


Who is Mr. Jones?

by Oboeist3



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alfred is a sassy little shit, Asexual America hell yea, Bruce knows a lot about the history of cigarettes, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/Oboeist3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers were a group used to the strange, the unlikely and impossible. So much so they'd be hard pressed to find anything to be surprised by. Until the day Steve met a dead man in Manhattan, a man that by all accounts, doesn't exist. It raises the question, who is Alfred F. Jones?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mr. Jones](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/59703) by Anime Girl 144. 



Steve Rogers knew he shouldn't be here. Here being a simple coffee shop in Manhattan, a tucked away place, and certainly not a Starbucks or such similar. No, it was a place that wore age on it's frame like an old man, and he found an odd comfort in it, the peeling pain and the worn down wooden sign half-blocked by a chalkboard proclaiming the specials. Something that held the test of time, not perfect sure, but still standing. He learnt the hard way that was the only thing that really mattered.

So here he was, drinking coffee he shouldn't be, reading a newspaper on the tablet Tony got him. (Unlike people seemed to think, tech wasn't something he really struggled with, at least most of the time.) Thankfully the place was pretty abandoned, not exactly an eyecatcher to modern folk. In one of the booths an old man poked a pastry, and on a nearby table a businesswomen tick-tacked away on a laptop. Neither paid any mind to him.

He settled into a bliss that had been nearly lost to him once moving into Stark Tower, for convenience they said, but Steve knew it was more a matter of not wanting to lose the tightly woven net the group brought to one another. Knowing without doubt someone was there. And for the most part, it's fine. Tony was still annoying, Bruce tried to make him less so, Natasha was his friend through and through, Clint didn't really do much with him but didn't bug him much either, and Thor wasn't there often enough to be an issue. (Though he did lay waste to the Poptart population of their pantry when he was there.)

However, the biggest flaw of living with, as Stark put it, a demigod; a super soldier, a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend; a man with breath-taking anger management issues; a couple of master assassins, and of course the billionaire genius playboy philanthropist that was Tony himself, was that there was no time for peace and quiet. Not with the 'science bros' mucking about in their labs, the master assassins keeping themselves to their standards, and the other people who flit in, the connectors, he called them.

Pepper for Tony and Jane for Thor, even the occasional call for Natasha and Clint. He tried to tell himself he wasn't jealous, even though he was, but it's outplayed by the fact that he hopes, God he hopes one day the door will open and it'll be someone he knows, as he knew them. Not wrinkled and wheezing as he dared to find some old friends after his return, and so many of them have lost their memories to the age but they still smile when they see him, still remember in the back of their minds, that's Steve.

Steve let out a long sigh and closed the tablet, since he wasn't able to focus and the news wasn't much different anyhow, just as the bell rang on the door. In walked a young man, hair blonde as wheat, not thin but not heavy either, wearing the weight in muscle under a simple white t-shirt and beat up blue jeans. Dazzling blue eyes glint under a pair of wiry glasses, and there's something in his walk that dripped youth and light and hope in a way that's hauntingly familiar.

"One cappuccino to go m'lady, and don't hold back on the whipped cream." said the boy to the lady behind the counter, a grin plastered so wide it seemed like it should hurt, but Steve knew it didn't. The tone was flirty but still respectful, non-threatening, and the world's first superhero was glad there were still guys like that. Most he came across were self-entitled bullies that seemed to think the female race owed them everything, when of course they owed them nothing.

As he's remarking on that thought, the sky blue eyes cast glances around the shop, flicking over the decor and other patrons until they land on him, and Steve didn't think the grin could get wider, but it does. And he's walking towards him with an excitement he had seen a million times and would see a million more, but it's certainly not the worst consequence of being famous.

"Well if it isn't Steve Rogers? Or should I call you Captain now?" asked the boy, mirth in his tone as he sat down across from him, and Steve wondered where he must have met him to be so casual.

"Steve is fine." he responded, in lack of a better one. Maybe he was a kid in a hospital, one who found hope in his name and his apparent superhero qualities. But that didn't seem right.

"Glad to hear it." said the other, seeming genuine.

"I'm sorry but have we-"

"Met before?" The other finished, a laugh bubbling over his lips, and Steve knew he had heard it before, the familiarity tugging at his mind, his memories. Unable to find a grip.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. We have. It's been a while though. For both of us." The words are both cryptic and simple, but it's still confusing him. And Steve never liked being in the dark.

"What's your name then?" he asked, best to start with simplicity.

"Alfred F. Jones." he responded, and again there's a tug, he knows that name somehow, he just can't place it.

"Where did we meet again?" he questioned, because he found himself more and more puzzled by this young man, this boy he knew but could not place. He was important too, his mind gave him that much, but beyond that he was a mystery.

Alfred paused for a moment, a hesitation hanging heavily in the air, before a hand slipped down into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, placing them on the table between them.

"Lets put it this way. I told you I'd pay you back, didn't I?" he said, and maybe it's the angle of the grin, slightly sheepish, or the tone that matches perfectly with the past, because suddenly it clicks and Steve knows, knows who this boy is, who he was. The fact that neither have changed.

"Y-You're that damn....but how?" he stammered out, in shock and disbelief. This isn't possible, and not in the usual impossible kind, the fact that it's been over seventy years and he hasn't changed, no he could believe that. It's the fact that he died.

Alfred, not dead Alfred, just gave a slight shrug. "It's part of the job. I figured you'd get that." he said, mysterious as the rest of him, and then there came a call for a cappuccino to go and he stood up, chair squeaking across the floor.

"Well Cap, it's been a pleasure to see you again, but I must be going now." said Alfred, giving an exaggerated bow before retrieving his drink and sauntering out the door, leaving Steve with a box of cigarettes and a great deal of thinking to do.


	2. Craig

Tony Stark did not consider himself a man of many pet peeves. Sure, there was the whole 'being handed things' and the active distaste of bureaucratic, professional stalling, (though he's fairly certain that's something no one liked.) But he was pretty sure he found a new one when Steve walked into his lab, threw a pack of cigarettes on his workbench, and told him to find an Alfred F. Jones.

"Who might that be?" he'd asked, very cordial considering the circumstances.

"Just find out who he is." The patriotic fossil had replied, with that voice that refused to be challenged. The Captain voice, they called it behind his back. "He was nineteen in 1943, if that helps any." he'd added, like that made up for his rudeness. It was almost out of character, coming from Steve, the perfect, old-timey gentleman. He'd be impressed if it wasn't directed at him.

"I'll see what I can do." he'd said, shooing him out of his lab and deciding to get this old man's nostalgia out of the way so he could get back to some real work.

Six hours and three government sites hacked into later and he's got nothing. No birth certificate, no death certificate, not so much as a tax paper from 1924 to the present. It was honestly driving him mad.

"JARVIS, try medical records." he ordered, looking on one of his bigger screens, the other projects pushed to the side. Tony Stark was not about to be bested by a lack of record. The guy may have been discreet, but no one was invisible in the system. He was in there somewhere.

"No records found, Mr. Stark." the British voice intoned at him, seeming slightly mocking in his moment of despair. Knowing him, it could very well be.

"Ugh..." he groaned, letting his head fall to the table with a loud 'thunk', almost masking out the snort from his fellow science bro, who had come around hour three, working on a project of his own.

"What you laughing at?" he huffed, sending him a weak look of annoyance from his position on the table, eyes blinking over at the rumpled physicist.

"Nothing." Bruce replied, the same nothing you said when a parent caught you muttering something you didn't want them to hear.

"Oh yea Big Guy, think you can do better?" he challenged, sending his failed attempts over to his screen with a flick. That's one of the features he never got tired of.

"Thanks but no thanks." he said after taking a glance at the mess and flicking it back to his screen.

Another groan fell from the billionaire's lips and he headdesked once more, though with less gusto, because his head sort of hurt from the first time.

"What are you doing anyway?" he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose in that stupid, geeky way of his.

"Capsicle asked me to find this 'Alfred F. Jones' person he knew back in the good ol' days. But he's nowhere! Not on public records, private records, blacklisted, whitelisted, experimented on or naturally dead." he exclaimed with exaggerated hand gestures, because he was a scientist.

"Have you considered the fact that might not be his actual name?" he said, after letting Tony have a moment of dramatic silence.

"Of course I have! But that's all he gave me to work with. Oh, and these." he said, tossing the pack of cigarettes at his science bro, who managed to awkwardly catch it. He studied the package for a moment before commentating.

"Huh, that's interesting." Those words certainly peaked Tony's interest.

"What's interesting?" he asked, scooting over next to him, his despair seemingly gone.

"Well, it's just...they stopped putting the white triangle over the rim in the early 50's. Had to start putting warnings on the top due to the studies linking smoking and lung cancer. Also the 'filter cigarettes' label is red in a white background, which is flipped nowadays, and bigger than modern packs. Mostly because back in the day, filtered cigarettes were considered more ladylike than unfiltered, but they flipped their demographic in the 50's. Apparently only women were smart enough to not want lung cancer. Afraid of being seen as too feminine, they started printing the unfiltered label as small they could get away with. Haven't bothered changing it since." he spouted out, leaving Tony slack jawed and shocked.

"So what does all that mean?" asked Tony, once he had sufficiently recovered.

"If my hunch is correct," said the physicist, popping open the lid and taking out one of the cigarettes. "then these really are a pack from the 1940's, and not an imitation." He turned the small stick between his fingers for a minute or so before sliding it back in the pack.

"It's real alright. Or one of the best imitations I've ever seen. The red rim at the bottom of the cigarette was supposed to hide lipstick stains, and it isn't scored like they did after the whole switch to becoming a 'man's cigarette.' You should probably test the tobacco itself, just to be sure." he said, handing the pack back to Tony.

"Dr. Banner, you are truly a genius." he said, causing the man to blush a little. He never got used to being complemented by the billionaire, especially when it came to intelligence. He didn't build an Iron Man suit in a cave with nothing but scraps after all. Though his work on anti-electron collisions was unparalleled.

"But how does this help us find the mysterious Alfred F. Jones?" he countered, and admittedly it took Bruce a moment.

"Well, assuming that those cigarettes are authentic, they probably belonged to the guy. Steve doesn't smoke, he had asthma before the serum. It's a long shot, but there might be some fingerprints or DNA on the pack you can analyze. Better than just searching a fake name." he said, giving one of those awkward little smiles of his.

"JARVIS, I want you to analyze this pack for tobacco content and organic material." he said immediately, placing them in a slot the AI had produced for the purpose.

"Right away sir."

"As for me, I am going to get a drink. Thanks a lot, Bruce. I owe you one." he said before sauntering out, leaving a shell shocked Bruce to analyze the words said to him.

"JARVIS, you recorded that right?"

"Of course, Dr. Banner."

"Good. I might need it later."

"Duly noted sir."

* * *

Tony was back to feeling like the King of the World at this point, sure he hadn't technically found the guy yet, but he was a lot closer than he was before. He thought he had earned a drink for his efforts.

As the elevator took him up to the penthouse, he did the things too mundane to be bothered with earlier, looking at emails and stock prices and all that capitalism stuff. Thankfully Pepper took care of most of this shit, so he didn't have to bother. A few signatures there, a few appearances here, but he mostly had his life all to himself.

A few minutes later and the elevator stopped with a ding, and so he put away his phone and stepped out.

"JARVIS, lights." he commanded, and the black of the room was filled with soft yellow light, gleaming off metallic walls and glass tables. He was a man of sleek style, modern, practical tastes. A bit impersonal at times, but he wasn't up here too much. Between his lab and the shared level, the only reason he came up was for some good alcohol or to crash in his bed for a few hours.

He hummed a little tune as he walked to the bar, he was thinking a martini tonight, something fruity and sweet. At least, he was until he heard a voice.

"I don't suppose you have any Craig?"

His head snapped up and he saw a man, really more of a boy, sitting on his couch. He was blonde haired and blue eyed, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. Dog tags glinted from a chain around his neck, and he wore a smile so wide it had to have hurt.

"What?!" he cried out, scrambling to find a weapon of some sort, but it wasn't like he had people breaking into his tower. Not often at least.

"Craig." the boy replied without a blink. "It's a type of Scotch. Only made and sold in a tiny area on the north tip of Caithness county. It's peaty and sharp, with a long finish of citrus and tobacco notes. I figured if anyone had it, it'd be you."

Tony, being as he was, the master of snarking back at people intent to kill him, got over his shock fairly quickly.

"I think I have some. But as much as I'd love to introduce you to the lovely world of alcohol, you seem a bit young." he said, pouring himself some vodka. A martini was not strong enough for these circumstances.

"Oh I'm older than I look." promised the mystery boy, sending him a wink as he walked over, picked up the bottle of vodka, and walked back to the couch. "Just ask Cap, or is it still Steve?" he mused, looking down at the clear glass in his hand.

"Stolichnaya, right? I haven't had this in years. Tried to kick the whole alcoholism thing, but oh god it led to some good nights. Or bad nights, depending on the circumstances." he added, taking a swig straight from the bottle. He sounded so eerily like himself in those words.

"Who are you and why are you here?" he asked, might as well get straight to the point.

"Ah. That is the question, isn't it?" mused the boy, taking another swig of vodka. "I'm the man you are looking for. You won't find me in the records though. After '49, they removed me from the system. I must admire the dedication though. Most people give up after two hours." he said, and that grin was still plastered on his smug face.

"If you're such a secret, why are you here?" he said, tactfully. He was slightly annoyed all his searching had been for naught.

"To threaten you. I thought the penthouse would be appropriate for the purpose, considering."

"You are here to threaten _me_?" he said, scoffing. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I think I'm important to this country in a way you aren't." he said, before wincing. "I'm sorry. That was mean. I'm just not used to this whole pretending to be intimidating thing. Not to people I don't hate. And honestly, no one can hate Tony Stark. So I'll give it to you as straight as I'm not." he said, all that cool demeanor falling away in an instant.

"A gay pun? Really?" said Tony Stark, electing only a shrug.

"Asexual panromantic actually. But yes." he corrected, laughing a laugh so ridiculously loud and impossible Tony was tempted to ask where he'd gotten it from.

"Anyway, you of all people knows the government has secrets. In a matter of speaking, you are one. So am I. But sadly, I am in a paygrade above superheros. Whenever someone tries to find out more about me that shouldn't, they are eliminated." he said, and somehow in that last sentence he wasn't a kid anymore. For a moment, Tony can see the blood on his hands, and how much he hated it.

"For someone like you, they can't get away with killing. Too suspicious, too likely to be questioned. But they can make you forget all about me, and they don't mind if it permanently wrecks you in the process."

Tony took a moment to consider the words laid before him, and he saw no reason to not believe this crazy, semi-alcoholic teenager who was somehow more important than him, and his mind. But he refused to be bullied. That was one thing he and Capsicle and all the Avengers could agree on.

"I've taken on terrorists and aliens and the fucking Hulk, I have insulted Congress to their face, I changed from the biggest manufacturer of tactical weapons to their greatest opponent. What makes you think I am going to be scared by the United States government?" challenged Tony, but Alfred just grinned and laughed again.

"I had a feeling you'd say something like that. Frankly, I'd be disappointed if you said anything else." he admitted, placing the bottle, half-empty now, on the glass table in front of him.

"Still, I enjoyed our conversation. Even without the Craig. I hope we don't meet again, for your sake." He had stood up at this point, brushing down his shirt and looking straight at him, blue eyes bright as the sky and filled with something he couldn't place. Alfred gave him one last smile before walking over to the elevator, the soft sound of his shoes echoing in the room, and Tony didn't even attempt to stop him.

"It's not a fake name by the way. Just common."

With that, he left Tony with a half empty bottle of vodka and a great deal of thinking to do.


End file.
